


Remember When (We Blew Out Your Candles)

by frankie_bell



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (Comic), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Femdom, Friends to Lovers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-01 07:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_bell/pseuds/frankie_bell
Summary: Barbara gives Dick a birthday present he'll never forget.





	Remember When (We Blew Out Your Candles)

Barbara exits the taxicab and tugs at the hem of her too-short dress. She doesn’t know why she wore it tonight, doesn’t know why she’s even here, about to enter a party filled with teen superheroes, cloying socialites, and kids she recently tutored for the SATs. She tries to tell herself she only came because Dick begged her, but she knows that isn’t true, has known it for some time. She likes to pretend their relationship is strictly platonic, but it isn’t and never has been. From the moment he laid that stupid, cocky kiss on her in the subway tunnel nearly four years ago, she’s been fighting this… _pull_. Back then, she didn’t know just how big their age-gap was, only that she was a head taller and possibly a year or two older. When she discovered he was only fourteen (“almost fifteen,” he jumped to assuage her), she felt slightly nauseous for ever having thought he was cute in the first place. Of course, her being an 18-year-old college graduate with a full-time job was hardly an issue in his mind. Over the years, he continued flirting and teasing, stole several kisses (for which he earned several slaps), and even confessed to being in love with her. She was thankfully able to feign sleep for that last one, but still… not the sort of thing you want to learn when you’re trying desperately to repress the inappropriate crush you have on your kid partner.

And lately, things have only gotten worse. Much, much worse. Aside from superficial physical changes (hello, 5-inch growth spurt and newfound hard body), Dick’s always been emotionally mature for his age. Add to that the fact that he’s probably her best friend and _definitely_ the only guy on the planet who understands exactly what she’s going through, who sees her for the person she truly is and not the one she pretends to be, and you’ve got a recipe for disastrous attraction. He knows she’s got a fiery temper and a mean right hook, that she’s not all facts, figures, and Dewey Decimal Systems. But he doesn’t discount that side of her either. With Dick, she gets to be both Barbara Gordon and Batgirl, the brainy librarian and the badass vigilante. In short, Dick Grayson doesn’t underestimate her, and even though she tries with every brain cell to ignore it, she thinks she might be in love with him, too — which is why she’s here, at the most garishly expensive nightclub in Gotham City _not_ run by the mob, wearing a dress that fails her ‘tip of the middle finger’ rule as paparazzi across the street snap pictures and shout, “Aren’t you Commissioner Gordon’s daughter?” and “How do you know Dick Grayson?”

Barbara knows she should ignore them and walk inside, but she feels compelled to explain. If you take away their nighttime activities, there’s not much reason for the 18-year-old son of Gotham’s favorite philanthropist and the 21-year-old daughter of the Police Commissioner to be palling around. “I’m his tutor,” she says dumbly, and one of them, a friend of Vicki Vale’s, shouts back, “Oh, yeah? You here to check his math homework?”

She cringes internally —  _Where’s that IQ of 190 when you need it? —_  but smiles and shouts, “You know what they say... there’s no greater gift than the gift of education!”

They all laugh. Barbara scoffs and walks inside. Those vultures can (and will) print whatever they want, truth be damned. Besides, this is bound to be the most excessive birthday bash since Bruce took a yacht full of models to St. Tropez; she’s sure the trashy tabloid set will have more interesting stories to focus on than Gordon’s good girl daughter trying to seduce the boy billionaire.

 

* * *

 

To say Dick’s party is excessive would be the understatement of the year. The place is decked out like Christmas on the Fourth of July. Hundreds of blue balloons line the walls, an eight-tier blue monstrosity of a cake sits atop a table overflowing with pricey gifts, there’s a blue ball pit — yes, an actual, honest-to-God ball pit! — in one corner, and blue lights illuminate a large dance floor packed with sweaty, impossibly stylish teens. Most of them are also wearing blue. Barbara looks down at her red dress and frowns. _Glad I got the memo_ , she thinks acidly, then makes a beeline for the open bar. 

“Hi, excuse me,” she says, but the bartender ignores her, too busy flirting with Melanie Gibb, star of Gotham’s most titillating nighttime soap. Barbara clears her throat, ready to try again when —

“Wouldn’t it be terrible if the birthday boy heard that _someone_ wasn’t doing his job?” Donna Troy beats her to the punch.

The man snaps back to attention. “So sorry,” he says in a voice that suggests he’s anything but. “What can I get you lovely ladies?”

Donna grins victoriously. “Just cola for me,” she says, then side-eyes Barbara and asks, “How about you?”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” she says, grateful for her perfect recall. She’s pretty much a teetotaler — and she _never_ drank before turning 21 — but she does enjoy the bitterness of her father’s cocktails at the annual precinct holiday party. 

The bartender nods and quickly fixes their drinks, eager to get back to his C-list starlet. The cop’s daughter in Barbara is deeply unimpressed when he fails to check her ID. There are hundreds of underage kids here, and it looks like half of them are well on their way to being drunk. She can’t believe Bruce is okay with this. Speaking of which… where the hell is he? And where is Alfred? Come to think of it, where is anyone over the age of 21 besides herself and lover boy behind the bar?

“So, how do you know Dick?” _Well, if that isn’t the question of the hour_ , Barbara thinks.

She turns back to the giraffe-like Amazon, momentarily blinded by the full force of her beatific smile. Between the sparky romper, thick black ponytail, and ungodly deep tan, Donna Troy looks like Barbara’s opposite in practically every way. “His father — Bruce, I mean — donates quite a bit of money to the GCPD, and my dad’s the Commissioner, so we see each other at parties and fundraisers. I’m also his private tutor.”

“Oh,” Donna says knowingly, her smile growing even bigger, “you’re _the_ Barbara Gordon.”

 _The_ Barbara Gordon? Dick talks about her to the Titans? She can’t imagine Bruce would allow him to divulge Batgirl’s secret identity, which can mean only one thing — he’s told them about Barbara Gordon-Barbara Gordon, not Batgirl-Barbara Gordon. An interesting development, to say the least.

“That’s me.”

“Wow, it’s great to finally meet you,” Donna says with a glow of sincerity that puts Barbara immediately at ease.  

“Nice to meet you, too,” she replies, offering her hand and then feeling stupid for being so formal. Donna doesn’t seem to mind, shaking the offending appendage vigorously enough to cause cramps. Barbara wants to tell her she knows all about Wonder Girl and the rest of the team, but she also doesn’t want to freak her out, so instead she asks, “Sorry, what was your name?” 

“Donna. Donna Troy.” Before Barbara can ask how the younger girl knows Dick, she continues: “I’m a photographer in upstate New York. I shot a pictorial with Dick a few months back, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

Good cover story. Barbara’s not surprised she has one.

“I’m impressed,” she says frankly. After all, Donna’s not lying about the photography part; Dick showed her some pictures after patrol last week, and there’s no doubt the girl’s got talent. “You hardly look old enough to be out of high school, and you’re already a working photographer?”

Donna’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Got my own studio and everything,” she says, clearly proud. “From what I’ve heard, you’re no slouch yourself. Our mutual friend mentioned something about you graduating college at sixteen?”

“Sure did,” Barbara confirms, and the two share a look. Less than five minutes together, and they’re getting on like a house on fire. “Seems like we have quite a bit—”

“Babs,” Dick’s voice calls from across the room, and both girls whirl around to face him. He’s sitting in that ridiculous ball pit with Wally West and ten to twelve prep school girls, several of whom Barbara knows from the library or tutoring. One of them, a brunette named Jill, tries to pull him back in, but he resists, rushing to the bar with Wally hot on his heels. Unsurprisingly, the speedster beats him.

“Hello, beautiful,” Wally says with a wink. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Wally, Babs. Babs, Wally,” Dick says, his voice hurdling several octaves. What _exactly_ has he been telling his friends about her?

“You know, Donna, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Dickie here was trying to get rid of us.”

Donna laughs big and bright, then says, “Well, he’s certainly trying to get rid of _you_.”

Wally pouts. “Fine. I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He grabs Donna by the hand and starts leading her across the room. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be with the birthday cake.”

“Hey,” Donna protests, “we were bonding.”

Wally smirks. “Yes, and now you can bond with the chocolate ganache!”    

The two continue their playful argument, leaving Barbara alone with Dick. He toes his sneaker absentmindedly against the mirrored floor, then runs nervous fingers through his hair. He gets like that with her sometimes, all fidgety from excitement but unsure of what to say or do. If the tension between them over the past six months has been bad, it feels like Mt. Vesuvius on the brink of explosion right now.

“Happy Birthday, Boy Wonder,” Barbara says in the coolest, most nonchalant voice she can manage. “Or should I start calling you Man Wonder now?”

A peal of laughter. “You can call me whatever you want, Babs, so long as you remember I’m legal.”

_Legal._

Barbara takes a measured sip of her drink. Dick’s signature come-ons were a lot easier to ignore last Saturday, when reciprocation was an actual crime. Still, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she —

_No! Don’t think like that, Babs! Down that road leads mistakes so big they could have their own zip code. Sure, Dick may be legal, but that’s no reason to toss four years of friendship out the window. Sexual tension and light flirting are one thing, but this? Nu-uh. No way. You cannot go to bed with a kid whose spelling you used to correct!_

“So,” Dick says, pulling Barbara from her rapidly spiraling thoughts, “what do you think of my party?”

She puts on her best serious face and taps her index finger to her chin. “It’s quite the spectacle, Richie Rich.”

“I know,” he says, nose crinkling in obvious distaste. “It was all Bruce’s idea.”

“Oh, really?” Barbara teases, and suddenly, the awkwardness is gone, replaced by their usual quick-witted banter. “The big, bad bat suddenly grow an affinity for kiddie attractions?”

“Alas, no,” Dick says, hanging his head in mock-shame. “The ball pit was purely Wally’s idea.”

“And the cereal bar?” she needles. “Whose brainchild was that?”

Dick’s mouth twitches. “You caught me, BG. The Froot Loops were my contribution.”

“You know,” Barbara says thoughtfully, “I think the consumption of that much added sugar qualifies Man Wonders for a demotion back to Boy Wonder status.”

The twitch grows into a full-blown smirk. “You think it’s time for me to switch to Raisin Bran and start wearing blazers?”

Okay, so maybe she resembles that remark. Big deal. There’s nothing wrong with dressing for success.

“Cute, Short Pants. Very cute. But some of us have actual jobs, and those jobs require a serious wardrobe."

Dick leans in close, his expression sober. “Oh, I agree. Your wardrobe’s serious, all right. Seriously—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she says, stopping his forward momentum with a light elbow to the chest. He grimaces back at her, but he’s not hurt — not really. Still, maybe a change of topic wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“So… back to the part where this was all Bruce’s idea?”

“Oh. Right. Well, he’s currently off-world with the JLA — has been since last week — and he told me it would help if I made a real fuss about my birthday and accidentally let slip all the details.”

Barbara scowls. Making your beleaguered son even more of a press darling to protect your secret identity? Textbook Bruce Wayne. “Sounds like something he’d do,” she says tartly, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

Dick rubs the back of his neck. “I know it’s not exactly normal dad behavior, but he means well. He let me spend a small fortune on this thing and even promised to take me skiing when he gets back.”

 _Yes, and that makes up for the past ten years of emotional deprivation,_ Barbara thinks, but instead she says, “Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah. We haven’t been since I was a kid,” he says, and the far-off expression on his face lets Barbara know the memories are fond ones. “Plus, you came to my party, so I’d say it’s a win-win for Man Wonder.”

Sigh. “You’re not letting that one go, are you?”

“Nope.”

They sit comfortably for the next few minutes, Barbara finishing her drink while Dick catches her up on his latest mission with the Titans, as well as Donna and Roy’s messy breakup. She can feel the gin buzzing happily through her system, relaxing her. Dick’s words grow fuzzy as her eyes zero in on his mouth, and really, it’s not fair for anyone to have such a good-looking mouth. She wants to kiss it, wants to drag his lower lip between her teeth and push her tongue inside. She slumps forward, contemplates doing it when —

“Dick, come dance with me!” 

A blonde girl Barbara vaguely recognizes starts tugging on his arm.

He turns to her, clearly frustrated. “Maybe later, Becky. I’m a little busy right now.”

The girl looks between the two of them. “With Miss G. from the library?”

Barbara wants to slam her head against the bar. Never has she been so acutely aware of the chasm separating her from Gotham’s high school crowd.   

“Yep,” Dick returns, looking at Barbara and not at Becky.

“Oh,” the girl says, then slowly walks off, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to stare at the strangeness that is pretty boy Dick Grayson wasting his time with the local librarian.

Barbara slides off her chair and grabs her purse. “You should dance with her,” she says softly. “I need to get going, anyway.”

“Babs, please, don’t do this.”

“I’m not _doing_ anything,” she replies, unable to keep the defensive lilt from her voice. “I really need to go home and let the cat out.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

Barbara runs both hands over her face. She doesn’t want to fight right now. “My neighbor does, and I told her I’d let him outside.”

“We can go someplace else,” Dick bleats, obviously grasping at straws. “There’s a Fairmont Hotel a block up the street.”

Barbara’s face falls. Dick looks panicked, like he just flung himself off a 40-story building with no jump line. A strange mixture of panic and eagerness constricts her throat, but she somehow manages to mumble, “Dick, that’s not a good idea.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he continues quietly, desperately. “I just want to be around you.”

Well, fuck. What can she possibly say right now that doesn’t make her sound like a total snot? It’s the kid’s birthday, and all he’s asking is to spend some time together. It’s not his fault she can’t temper her silly crush.

“Fine. Meet me in the coat closet in two minutes… and bring a piece of cake.”

“Okay,” Dick agrees, his posture sagging with relief. “I’ll be right back.”

 

* * *

 

For the next hour, the two of them sit under a rack of winter coats eating chocolate cake, drinking champagne straight from the vastly overpriced bottle, and debating everything from Edward Nygma’s all-time worst riddles to which member of the Justice League they suspect is best in bed (Barbara says Wonder Woman, no question, but Dick is adamant that Superman would “do you right”). When she jokingly mentions liking the idea of tying a man up with Diana’s Lasso of Truth, his fork misses his mouth entirely, smearing frosting up the side of his face.

Barbara snorts. “Here,” she says, reaching out and wiping the sticky mess away with her thumb. She tries to bring her hand back, but Dick catches her by the wrist and licks the chocolate off her finger.

Her breathing stutters. Her shoulders tighten. Her chest blushes like sunburn.

Dick clocks it all.

“Babs,” he says, moving her hand from his mouth to the back of his head, where her fingers instinctively tangle in his hair, “I want this to happen.”

She tightens her grip and draws him in, the coherent part of her brain kicking and screaming the whole way. “It could ruin everything,” she says, her nose now close enough to bump his.

His breath is warm against her cheek. “Or it could make everything better.”

And then they’re making out — big, open-mouthed kisses that make Barbara’s jaw hurt. She’s never been the boy-crazy type, and the few experiences she’s had with sex have been so-so at best, but right now, all she wants to do is push Dick onto his back and ride him into the closet floor. When he slides a hand around her waist and pulls her into his lap, however, she decides that’s not the best idea and reluctantly breaks their kiss.

“We need to stop,” she says, even though her hips have started a slow grind against his zipper. She can feel him shake his head ‘no’ against her throat.

“Not again,” he practically whines. “If our genders were reversed, you wouldn’t think twice about the stupid age difference.”

She tugs his head back, forcing him to meet her eyes. She can’t concentrate while he’s nuzzling and licking like that. “That’s not what I meant,” she says with an affectionate eye roll. “I was hoping we could go to the place you mentioned earlier.”

Dick nods wordlessly, emphatically. It’s very cute.

“Also,” Barbara adds, unable to help herself, “don’t think you can get me into bed by appealing to my abhorrence for patriarchal norms.”

“Seems to be working pretty well so far.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Dick’s whole demeanor shifts. “Yes,” he mutters, eyes downcast, and Barbara tries not to analyze what it says about her that she finds his immediate compliance so… _exciting_.

 

* * *

 

They’re able to sneak out the back door thanks to Wally’s diversion — Barbara audibly splutters when Dick pulls him off the dance floor and tells him to “go cause a scene” — and hastily make their way to the hotel, hands clasped the whole walk. The lobby is sleek and opulent, almost obnoxiously so, and Barbara’s afraid to touch anything. Several people stare curiously at what must look like a pair of mussed-up teens trying to spend beyond their means, but Dick is immune, a happy side effect of having attention thrust upon him since he could walk. He flashes his credit card and a winning smile, and the clerk slides over two key cards with a polite nod.

Once safely inside the elevator, Dick grabs her around the waist and brings her flush against him. His thumbs rub slow circles against her hipbones as he buries his face in her windswept hair.  

“You smell good,” he says, one hand sliding up her ribcage to cup her breast through the thin material of her dress.

It’s phenomenal — really, it is — but Barbara’s hacked into too many mainframes and security systems to feel comfortable getting groped in a public elevator she knows is equipped with hidden cameras.

“Wait till we’re in the room,” she says as she regretfully extricates herself from his hold. He opens his mouth to argue, but one look at her pinched brow has him closing it without comment.

Floor 10, 15, 20, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29… 30. _Ding!_  

They walk down a series of long, dimly lit hallways leading to Room 3025. Dick fumbles with the key card, uncharacteristically clumsy, before finally unlocking the door. The interior is gorgeous, done up in a French chateau style that doubtless costs more than most folks make in a lifetime, but again, he looks unfazed. _For a kid who grew up in tents and train cars, someone sure has grown accustomed to the glamorous life_ , she thinks, then steels herself and says, “Get undressed and sit on the bed.”

It’s funny, but Barbara’s somehow more nervous right now than she was when she lost her virginity at 19. More nervous than she’s been before, during, or after any of the admittedly limited sexual encounters she’s had in the years since. As a matter of fact, the last time she can remember feeling this skittish and unsure of herself was the first time she stood on the roof of Wayne Enterprises, ready to take that fateful leap.

She swallows noisily and turns to see Dick stripping out of his sweater and pants at breakneck speed. Under different circumstances, it would be hilarious, but not now, not when she thinks about what they’re here to do, what line she intends to cross. Once he’s down to his underwear, his eyes find hers across the room. For several agonizing seconds, they simply stare at each other, both breathing shallowly and chewing their mouths. Despite possessing an eidetic memory and being able to quote Brontë, Nabokov, and Joyce in her sleep, Barbara fails to find words that can accurately express just how striking Dick Grayson is without clothes. Of course, she’s seen him bruised and shirtless dozens of times, but those were different — she knew she couldn’t touch him, kiss him, lick him, do all manner of unmentionable things to him. Plus, she was desperately suppressing back then, fully convinced this would never, _ever_ happen. All in all, a wholly different experience. 

The sound of the bedframe shifting drives Barbara back into action. She pulls off her heels and tosses them on the hardwood floor, then takes several small steps toward the bed where Dick sits, his legs literally vibrating with anxious energy. With a deliberation bordering on torture, she reaches behind her back and unzips her dress. It puddles around her feet.

Dick’s eyes go big. It’s obvious he’s trying not to stare at her bare breasts. “Oh, God.”

Having nothing to do with her figure, Barbara has never felt comfortable naked. There’s something so vulnerable about it, a certain openness and lack of control she finds distressing. And if there’s one thing in life Barbara Gordon needs, it’s control. But she can easily win that back.

“Dick,” she says, and he takes a gulping breath before looking up. _Good._ This is what she wants — what she _needs —_ to move forward.

“Babs,” he answers in a thready voice, still struggling not to leer.

She kicks aside her discarded dress, then closes the short distance between them. Dick clenches and unclenches his hands several times, unsure whether he should touch her, before Barbara pushes his knees apart and slinks between them. She can feel how hard he is against her upper thigh; knowing she’s the cause is more empowering than almost anything.

“How do you want to do this?” she asks.

“However you want,” he responds without hesitation.

She smiles. While that might be fun, it _is_ his birthday, and she wants him to participate.

“Well,” she says as she climbs onto the bed and moves behind him, “how do you imagine it?”

“Wh-What?”

Barbara brackets her knees on either side of Dick’s waist, scooting forward until her breasts meet his back. He visibly trembles. So does she.

“Surely, you’ve thought about it before?” she says matter-of-factly, her fingers now tracing random patterns and words into his chest. She wishes she could see his face.  

“So many times. You have no idea.” 

She does, but that’s beside the point — especially when there are far more interesting things to hold her attention.  

“And?”

Barbara lays a trail of soft kisses behind Dick’s ear as her hands ghost over the flat plane of his stomach to toy with his waistband. He nearly jumps when her fingers brush his cock, and she smothers a giggle, then grabs him by the chin and redirects his gaze to her grinning face. “Tell me what I do to you in your dreams,” she says, her voice teetering on the edge of forcefulness. When he doesn’t answer her right away, she reaches inside his boxer-briefs and takes him in her fist.

“Please, Babs, please,” he cries out, and she shakes her head from side to side. She could take pity on the poor thing and just give him what she already knows he wants, but she’s enjoying the heady sense of control she gets by forcing him to think he has any.

“How do I start, Grayson?” she asks, lazily jerking him off. 

“Go down on me. You always go down on me first.”

There it is.

“Wow. What a nice girl I am.”

“The nicest,” Dick agrees with a smile.

She removes her hand, pushes him gently to his back, and slides into position near the edge of the bed. When she leans forward and starts tonguing him through his underwear, Dick buries his hands in her hair and moans beautifully. She keeps at it until he’s twisting from side to side, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, then pulls off and says, “Do I swallow your cum?”

She loves shocking him, and this certainly does the trick. He shoots up on his elbows and stares down at her with a gaping mouth. This time, she does laugh, and it makes his tan skin flush a bright, happy pink. “I don’t — I mean… you don’t have to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Barbara,” Dick begins, but she cuts him off with a sharp bite to the inner thigh that makes him growl through his teeth.

“Answer the question,” she continues, each word spoken slowly, deliberately.  

Dick’s shoulders collapse like he’s trying to hide himself. “Yeah,” he finally admits, unable to meet her eyes. “You, uh — you usually do.”

“Good to know,” Barbara says, her tone boomeranging back to its earlier playfulness. She takes another swipe at the damp cotton, then pulls it back and rubs her cheek against his cock. Some precum smears along the wick of her mouth, and she turns her face to lap at the head — which is when Dick totally loses it. 

“Christ, Babs! Ah, fuck,” he gasps and falls back on the mattress, forearm thrown over his eyes. She breathes hotly against his groin, then licks him from base to tip one, two, three times before swallowing. Her gag reflex kicks in immediately, but she pushes forward, unwilling to stop until her nose brushes the thin knife scar on his stomach. That seems to do the trick, because Dick’s hand is back in her hair (too gentle), and his thighs are tensing like crazy from trying not to thrust, trying to be sweet with her. She doesn’t need it and lets him know as much by lacing their fingers together and tightening his grip on the back of her head. He gets the message straight away — world’s second greatest detective — and before long, he’s guiding her mouth by two thick handfuls of hair and grinding his hips in shallow counterpoint to her movements.

“You’re the best, Babs. So perfect and beautiful and smart.”

She hums happily as he continues talking, each comment about how amazing she is and how long he’s wanted this getting harder and harder to understand. Eventually, he’s just panting nonsense into the pillows, his hips stuttering and losing all semblance of rhythm.

“Yes… mouth… gonna… can’t… no…”  

Barbara digs her short nails into his sides when he tries to roll away, then hollows her cheeks and presses hard with her tongue until he erupts, splashing the back of her throat with cum. She’s not surprised by the force of it, but she still struggles to swallow everything without coughing. Dick, for his part, looks completely wrecked, sprawled across the comforter with drowsy eyes and a grin the size of Texas. Once his breathing returns to normal, he reaches out and wipes the corner of Barbara’s mouth, his face shining with love. It almost scares her to look at him.

Thankfully, he knows her well enough to understand that it’s not the right time for that conversation. Not yet, at least.

“So, what now, Birthday Boy Wonder?”

Dick laughs and tugs Barbara’s body up the bed to lie on top of his. Her nerve endings spark to life as his hands glide down her spine, cupping her bottom and pressing her now embarrassingly wet panties against his stomach. His mouth, meanwhile, gets to work on her left breast, sucking a bruise into the pale, freckled skin, then switching sides and doing the exact same thing to the right. She hisses and says, “No dawdling. I want to know.”

“Okay,” Dick agrees, grabbing her by her hips and shifting them so that she’s seated high on his sternum. This time, she can _hear_ how wet she is when he moves her, and she’s oddly less mortified and more aroused. She watches Dick watch her with hungry, pupil-blown eyes, feels his knuckles feather over the backs of her thighs. “Well,” he says hoarsely, “I think reciprocation is the basis of any worthwhile relationship.”

Barbara cards her fingers through his already messy hair. “You do, do you?”

“Indubitably,” he replies with that smug little Robin smirk that used to make her want to knock his block off. Not so much anymore.

“Looks like _someone_ remembers his SAT vocab words.”

“What can I say,” Dick teases, “I had an excellent teacher — Miss G. from the library. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”

Barbara snorts. If only bottle-blonde Becky could see her now — straddling the Prince of Gotham’s shoulders, about to sit on his face. “I don’t know,” she says, her breath falling out of sequence as Dick reaches between her thighs and crooks two fingers into her sticky underwear. “You'd have to describe her to me.”

More touching. Pressing. Rubbing. Then, without warning, he slips inside, wrist bumping her clit perfectly with each flex. “Let’s see… she’s got long, strawberry red hair and big, blue eyes, this cute burst of freckles across the bridge of her nose.” He runs the index finger of his right hand (the one _not_ currently buried between her legs) over said freckles, and she turns to kiss the inside of his wrist, sloppy already. “Most days, she wears glasses — this wire-framed pair that drives me bats.”

Barbara rolls her eyes, ready to retort, but Dick cuts her off with a flick of his wrist. “She doesn’t think they’re sexy, but she’s _so_ wrong. I dream about those glasses.” She nearly cries when he removes his hand. “Oh, and did I mention she’s a super genius? By far my favorite thing about her. Well, that and her willful personality.”

They share a smile bright enough to light the whole city.

“She sounds wonderful,” Barbara says, grabbing Dick’s wrist and placing his hand back where it belongs. He toys with her for a few seemingly endless seconds, then pulls her panties aside with his thumb and drags her legs over his shoulders. She jerks violently at the first touch of his tongue, thighs clamping around his head before she can stop herself.  

Dick doesn’t fight it, just moans loudly between her legs and doubles the speed and intensity of his mouth until she’s gasping, pleading, her palms pressed against the headboard. “Oh, God, Dick. Dick, please, d-don’t stop. So good.”

He can’t technically speak, but he tries to anyway, the resulting vibrations making her yelp in a most un-Barbara-like fashion. She grinds her hips roughly against his face, desperate to gain some relief, but all she gets for her trouble is a retaliatory slap on the hip. Her skin feels magnetized, each new touch heightening to the point of near-pain — so much so that when Dick finally pays attention to her clit, she shatters, coming all over his cheeks and chin.

After what feels like hours, Barbara slips off his face and onto the sweaty sheets. She doubts it’s possible to blush any redder, but her body makes a valiant effort, ears and chest burning when she finally takes him in. This has never happened to her before. Never has she been this out-of-control, this... _desperate_. It’s a strange feeling, one she’s not sure she likes.

“You’re all wet,” she says absently, brushing the moisture from his face with the edge of the duvet.

Dick beams, clearly proud, then leans in to kiss her nice and slow. Barbara can taste herself when he licks into her mouth, and the reality of it is ten times hotter than anything she’s ever read or dreamt up. She kisses him back with renewed fervor and throws a leg over his lap, their heads rolling and turning against each other as she straddles him.

“You’re hard again,” she observes, pulling away with one last bite to his lower lip.

Dick chases her mouth. “Uh-huh,” he says, tangling his fingers in her hair and kissing her again. “Eating you out got me all worked up.”

She nods sympathetically, then wiggles her hips against his groin. He nearly chokes. “Guess we should take care of that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, barely audible, “we should.” He rolls Barbara gently onto her back and slides off the mattress, rummaging through his wrinkled pants for several seconds before holding up a string of condoms. He grins triumphantly. 

“Ladies of Gotham beware,” Barbara snarks as he climbs back into bed, settling between her open legs. She grabs one of the condoms from him and rips it open, the sound of tearing foil like a siren in the quiet room.

Dick breathes harshly through his nose. “Nah, just you. You’re the only lady I’m after.”

Barbara rolls the condom on with shaky hands. “Seriously, Short Pants, no need to lay it on so thick — especially when you’re already getting some.” She grabs his hips to line them up, but Dick stops her before she can force him inside.

“It’s not like that, Babs. You know it isn’t.”

The enormity of the situation hits Barbara like a roundhouse to the solar plexus. Her first instinct is deflection, but she buries it swiftly. Sure, she could be her usual stubborn self and lie to him — but why? What’s the point? Dick’s always been able to see through her, and if she’s being honest, this was bound to happen sooner or later. _Looks like it turned out to be sooner,_ she muses, then steals herself, pushing all thoughts of Bruce and her dad and those stupid reporters across the street to the back of her mind. “You’re right, it’s not. Not for either of us.”

Before Dick can speak, Barbara leans in and kisses him one last time, the faintest brush of her lips on his. When they finally break apart, she flips their positions, bracing herself against his chest. It takes a little maneuvering, but soon she’s got them all lined up and ready to go. She pushes halfway down, then eases off with painstaking care. Dick pants into her hair and laces their fingers together, mumbling words like “tight” and “hot” and “fuck” before quieting altogether.

On the third try, she finds the right angle, sinking down fully with a sigh that quickly morphs into a moan. Dick’s thighs twitch beneath her. She can tell he’s desperate to move, but he won’t, not until she gives him the green light — which she does with a clumsy rock of her hips.

“You okay?” he asks.

Barbara’s hold on his shoulders tightens as she continues to move over him. “Indubitably,” she replies, playing off his earlier tease.

His answering smile is devious. “Oh, yeah? You like that?”

“Nuh-uh, Boy Wonder—”

“Man Wonder,” he corrects.

Barbara scowls. Why did she even have to go there? “I already stroked your dick tonight; I’m not stroking your ego, too.”

“But you’re so good at it,” Dick half-laughs, half-groans.   

She silences him with a hand to the back of the neck, guiding his mouth to her breast, which he attacks with gusto, tugging at her nipple and leaving several new marks next to the heart-shaped bruise from earlier.

“That’s it,” she sighs. “Mmm. I knew that smart mouth had better uses.”

Dick whines and squirms in Barbara’s arms, his tongue continuing to lap at her superheated skin. She tries to keep her eyes open, to watch his face flicker and change, but she can’t. Everything’s too loud, too good, too much to take in. They’re not even done yet, and all she can think about is when they’re going to do it again. When and where and how.

Eventually, Dick slides off her breast, resting his slick forehead beneath her chin. He’s trying not to come — she can feel it in the way his stomach muscles clench, the way his eyelashes beat rapidly against her throat as his movements turn sloppy and languorous.

“Bar-bara! Oh, shit, Babs! Can’t—”

“Keep going,” she urges, reaching between them to rub at her clit. Dick snatches her fingers away, replacing them with his own and flipping her onto the sheets. The new angle makes her whole body clench, hands flying into his hair and twisting sharply to punctuate her cries. He pumps into her one last time, grinding his pelvis hard enough to splay her thighs wide open, and then —

She feels a warm gush between her legs.

Dick collapses on top of her, his limbs bent at odd angles. “S-sorry,” he stammers.

Barbara caresses his back, brushes her mouth over his throat, his cheek, his ear.

“Don’t be,” she says. “That was great. _You_ were great."

Dick lifts his head to capture her mouth. “High praise from the girl who said no to ego-stroking.”

“Consider it your birthday present,” she mumbles as he drags the duvet over their rapidly cooling bodies.

“Thanks, BG. That’s the nicest gift anyone’s ever given me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It takes less than five minutes for their eyelids to droop and their breathing to even out. Barbara’s just on the verge of surrendering to sleep when she hears Dick whisper, “I really do love you, Babs. Maybe someday I’ll have the guts to tell you when you’re conscious.”

The next morning, she wakes up to 32 missed texts and 7 voicemails. The front page of the Gotham Gazette reads, _Boy Billionaire Beds ‘Plain Jane’ Librarian, Story by Vicki Vale._

When Bruce calls Dick in a rage several minutes later, he simply says, “Well, you _did_ tell me to make the papers.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, where to begin? First of all, let it be known that my headcanon — and actual pre-boot canon, if I’m not mistaken (I can’t keep up with all the retcons) — is that Dick and Babs didn’t get together until their Nightwing and Oracle days. That’s the way I like it, since I think both characters needed to mature and find themselves apart from their Batgirl and Robin identities before pursuing any sort of romance. I also have immense respect for Dick and Kory’s relationship, and I truly believe he never would’ve been the boyfriend Barbara deserved without the things she taught him. At the end of the day, I think Dick and Babs are the better match as adults (just my personal opinion), but I love Starfire and that pairing and never want to be dismissive of her importance in Dick’s life. 
> 
> That being said, my lovely friend Raquel begged me to write “some Batgirl and Robin-era naughtiness,” and who am I to deny a friend? I was hoping to get this posted for Dick’s birthday, but alas, midterms got in the way and wound up eating through most of March. Anyhow, hope I was able to deliver, even if it is a bit tardy! I really tried to capture their 1970s _Batfamily_ flirting and see if I could push that into ‘What if they actually acted on it?’ territory. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please leave a kudos or — if you’re feeling extra nice — a comment (I’m always open to fic suggestions or questions)! I love connecting with other fans, and any sort of feedback is a huge catalyst and motivator when it comes to future writing. Thanks again!


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